Page 145 of Pull Me Under

‘I know.’ She holds up the bag. ‘I wanted to. Can I come in?’

I step back to let her pass, praying she won’t notice the box, the scattered papers, the evidence of my morning’s excavation.

She doesn’t. Or if she does, she doesn’t mention it.

We settle in the kitchen – safer ground – and she unpacks croissants while I make fresh tea. For a few minutes, we talk about nothing. The weather. The boat restoration. How Cassie’s pregnancy is progressing.

Normal things. Village things.

But I can see she’s not right. There’s a tightness around Nina’s eyes, a brittleness to her smile that I’ve learned to recognise.

‘Nina.’ I set down my mug. ‘Are you okay?’

She laughs – a short, sharp sound. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’

‘You can. But I asked first.’

For a moment, I think she’s going to deflect. Change the subject, make a joke, do the thing we all do when someone gets too close to the tender parts.

Then her face crumples.

‘It’s just hard, you know?’ Her voice is thick. ‘Seeing everyone so happy. You and Jude, Kit and Isla, Cal and Cassie with the baby coming. Everyone’s moving on, building lives, and I’m still—’ She stops. Swallows. ‘I don’t know how to do that. Don’t know if I’ll ever want to.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I should have thought⁠—’

‘No.’ She shakes her head firmly. ‘Don’t you dare apologise for being happy. I’m not – I’m not jealous, not really. I’m glad for you. All of you. It’s just…’ She trails off, staring at her hands.

‘Maybe a change of scenery would help,’ I offer. ‘Get away for a bit. See new places, new faces.’

Nina looks up sharply. ‘Leave Sea Salt Bay?’

I shrug. ‘Just a thought.’

‘And go where? This is my home. My café. Everything I built with Peter is here.’

‘I know.’ I reach across the table, squeeze her hand. ‘But are you living here? Or are you just … surrounded by ghosts?’

The question lands hard. I watch it register – the flinch, the flash of recognition.

‘I don’t know,’ she admits quietly. ‘I don’t know the difference anymore.’

We sit with that for a moment. The weight of it.

Then Nina straightens, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘God, look at me. I came to check on you and ended up having a breakdown in your kitchen.’

‘That’s what friends are for.’

She laughs – a real one this time, watery but genuine. ‘I should go. I’ve got the lunch rush to prep for.’ She stands, gathering the paper bag. ‘You’ll be okay? Whatever happened with Jude and his dad?’

‘I’ll be okay,’ I lie.

She hugs me at the door – tight, brief – and then she’s gone, walking back toward the harbour with her shoulders squared against whatever ghosts are following her.

I close the door and lean against it, breathing.

I have to tell Jude.

The letters are still waiting in the other room. Helen’s words. Lily’s existence. The whole tangled, impossible truth.